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So Shall Ye Reap is the 35th book in the detective series detailing the homicide cases of Grade 4 Joseph Lind and his young partner D2 Shelley Shields.
Throughout one's life, collisions and caresses are a part of living.
Like ripples on a pond that are interfered with by a fallen branch or a rocky outcrop, those ripples caress and find a way around the obstacle.
Unfortunately, life is not like that with evil walking amongst us as a daily occurrence.
With any luck we would never be involved how-ever casually with that type of person, but if fate declared such a union, then a downward spiralling trajectory could very well be the result.
As ye sow, so shall ye reap.
He angrily pulled his pants up.
Adjusted his bum bag as though he thought it the culprit.
He was not pleased.
This was the third time that he had ejaculated way too early.
In fact, he doubted that he had even penetrated the woman! Or any of them if he had to be totally honest with himself!
That really pissed him off.
He should go and see a Doctor about it as it did worry him when he was placed in this situation.
He lashed out with his foot, landing it heavily on the white buttock of the young woman.
She tried to squirm away from him. Soft sobs escaped from her mouth.
'What's she got to cry about?' He thought angrily.
He doubted that he had even raped her. Cum inside her. Pierced her. Penetrated her...these thoughts started to make him hard again.
He bent over and gave her another punch to the face, just below the eye to let her know that it was all her fault.
She curled tighter into a foetal position, sobbing silently. Shielding her battered face with her hands.
It was all her fault, he thought to himself. If she hadn't been so unwilling to succumb to his advances, he may not have cum so quickly. Her meagre throes of opposition had only excited him more.
It was all her fault.
He again kicked her hard in the buttock.
Harder this time.
He heard her groan.
He readjusted his bum-bag and stepped out from the bushy area.
Looking both ways, he started up the jogging track pleased that not a soul was about.
The sun had only just peaked over the horizon.
It was going to be a fine day, he thought to himself.
He began to go over what he was required to do on this day.
It was going to be another busy one.
A day of challenges.
Of compromise and negotiation.
"Another good day," he whispered to himself as he picked up speed.
The crumpled, soiled woman that he left behind in the bushes the last thing on his mind. Lost in the myriad narcissistic thoughts that spun through his brain.
The frustration and anger felt just a few brief moments ago gone to be replaced with the choice of important chores that lay before him for the rest of the day...the week...perhaps the month.
Business decisions that only he could make that lauded him with kudos from the plebs!
Another good day?
- - - - -
"Bloody Hell!" I exclaimed. I covered my eyes with my hands and shook my head. "Ouch! That'd hurt...was he alive when he had it chopped off?"
"A nice clean cut...a sharp knife or a scalpel even, that's for sure...and that tree branch shoved up his anal passage wouldn't have been a load of laughs either." Shelley responded.
I may have been wrong, but I suspected that there may have been a little glee from my partner over the manner in which this Victim experienced his last moments.
"Was he alive for that?" I asked incredulously.
A sensation coursing through my genitalia and back passage akin to terror electrified by adrenalin and the utter horror of the feeling that both acts would cause me. My sphincter muscles already working overtime to eject the foreign material that I thought that I could feel. Tests on my Prostate foreign to me, and by all accounts would remain so until I died, such was my opposition to the physical examination!
I felt squeamish!
The big brave cop!
"Hard to tell until we examine him on the cutting table...cause of death? Take your pick. The massive head trauma possibly caused by a long stem beer bottle if the glass remnants can be reconstructed that seem to be lying about here...or blood loss from having his penis cut off at the very base...or blood loss by having that tree branch rammed so far up his arse he could use the end of it as a toothpick...which would I think, have lacerated the anal wall to shreds...or choking to death after having his penis rammed halfway down his throat. I won't know for sure which of those was the cause of death...or maybe it would be safe to assume that a combination of all of them would be the cause...the trauma to his body was enormous."
"Anger...pure and simple...and I'd say that the Assailant knew his Victim...revenge...that's what I see here..." Shelley Shields, my partner muttered as she stood from her stooped position over the body. "Sheer, unadulterated anger."
"Didn't the Mafia...or Costra Nostra, cut off the penis of informers and stuff it into their mouths?" I asked no one in particular.
"What? You suggesting a Mafia hit here, Joe?"
"I'm not suggesting anything...but...it was a favourite way of dealing with guys who sold secrets to the cops and other opposition mobs, wasn't it? Back some years ago..."
"This isn't Chicago of the Thirties, Joe. This is Sydney, Australia in the twenty-first century..."
"You telling me, Shells, that the Mafia...or Costra Nostra, does not exist in this day and age? Here? In Australia?"
She shook her head.
"No Joe, but I doubt that there'd be a case on record where any Mafia payback hit involved shoving a tree branch up the arse of their target...this is anger. Retribution. Revenge..."
"They were good at that too, Shells...the Mafia..."
The three women looked at me as though my tutu was around my ankles. Questioning looks wondering on my sanity.
I got the message. I considered myself fast like that.
"Revenge? For what?"
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